In the End
by totaltheTERRIER
Summary: Post-108/Brotherhood. Three times Roy Mustang calls Edward Elric by the wrong name, and one time he doesn't: Because they've gone through too much together to give up now.
1. OneFourth

It had been approximately two and a half months from the day All Hell Had Broken Loose (as one short-tempered and heighted alchemist had christened it; known formally as the 'Promised Day') when I noticed the Twitch.

My sight was still a bit fuzzy in one eye but otherwise I was 'fit for duty', the doctors declared in the end; presumably after the dozenth or so time I'd requested an eye exam that day. (I'd lost count myself.) Nonetheless, I couldn't help but feel that my eyes had betrayed me when I glimpsed the slight jerk that wracked the face of my regrettably no-longer quite as short subordinate.

"Fullmetal," I repeated—there it was, that Twitch the boy couldn't quite hide; signs of an irked temper usually reserved for assumptions made about said subordinate's height. But there had been no provocations yet, I had merely addressed the boy, and surely even Ed needed a reason to pull such a face?

"What have I done to offend your precious sensibilities now, Fullmetal?" Perhaps he was just cranky after mother-henning his brother all these weeks.

Again the Twitch. Ed scowled. "Nothing, alright? Just get on with this stupid meeting so I can get back to Al."

"Obviously it's not nothing, Fullmetal, if every time I utter your name you seem to undergo spasms—"

"That's not my name!" Ed burst out, and flushed as his scowl deepened.

"What, 'Fullmetal'?"

"Yeah," he ground out through another Twitch. "I resigned from the military, remember? I'm no use to you guys anymore."

_I'm not an alchemist anymore._

Ouch. So that's what was eating him.

"Fullmetal," I deadpanned. "Just because you can no longer clap your hands and turn pointy objects into life-size bobbleheads of yourself does not mean you're not useful."

Twitch-flush-scowl.

"Now, the last time I checked, your stubborn little brain—"I cut off his squawks with a smirk"—hasn't been damaged. Unless your overblown growth spurt affected your head?"

Well. What an interesting shade of fuchsia.

"No? Pity. Well, in that case, you are most certainly still a valuable asset to this office."

See? Even I'm capable of niceness every now and then. I should make it an annual thing.

"Your alchemic genius remains, even if you can no longer execute it yourself. You have ties to people throughout our nation, and its neighbors. People still love you, for unfathomable reasons. And if you haven't let yourself go soft, you're probably still a hell of a brawler."

Huh. Kinda sounded like compliments. _I_ must be going soft.

"Pocket watch or not, we'll still be calling you up for consultations," I concluded. He nodded sullenly. "_But_—" his head snapped up from his intense perusal of his worn leather boots, looking for the catch"—if it truly bothers you that much, I'll drop the old title."

I've never been as relieved to get my sight back; for in all my years, I've never seen Edward Elric so speechless. It was a bit unnatural, really, like a Fuery with facial hair or an unarmed Riza. I basked in it for a few moments before succumbing to the quip that I'd been dying to let loose since the day I Had Nearly Lost Everything.

"After your restoration and all, I agree that 'Quartermetal' is more appropriate."

_AN: Yes, Mustang is a sadist...he filled up his niceness quota for the year, remember? _

_(And we all know 'Everything's name is Riza Hawkeye.) _

_Feel free to drop a review-I love getting feedback! :-) __And there's more chapters coming, promise. They'll probably be nicer to Ed. Maybe._


	2. Confusion and Haircuts

Three months since the day Everything Got Royally Effed Up (I really should stop calling it that, lest it slip out at the next press conference), Alphonse Elric was released from the hospital.

My team had insisted on a celebration of some sorts, and had proceeded to redecorate the everlasting hell out of _my_ office. Fuery had set up a state-of the art surround sound system. Falman was helping Havoc in, who was still a bit unsteady without a cane but had brought enough refreshments to supply the entire Briggs fortress for a week. This was good, for Breda had come with nothing but an empty stomach and growing bets on how long I could restrain myself from attempting to set them all on fire. Armstrong had set up lavish streamers and inflated enough balloons that his voice cracked all through his proclamations of how 'surprise parties had been passed down the Armstrong line for _generations'_. Riza was last to arrive, for she had somehow managed to commandeer a litter of kittens.

"What did you get Alphonse, sir?" Fuery inquired as we waited for the boys to arrive. (Ed was supposed to come first, telling Al to meet him after a 'boring-ass' meeting with me.)

_Shit._

"Well, seeing as the steel polish I ordered for Christmas no longer applies—" I could _feel _Riza shooting me a dirty look "—I'll have to say a joint gift with the First Lieutenant."

Breda smirked and elbowed Havoc. Hawkeye and I had never officially announced anything, and for all intents and purposes our public relations hadn't changed, but ever since the day of the Failed Yet Secretly Successful Military Coup—what the soldiers who were in on the whole thing had taken to calling it—it had apparently been 'completely obvious' that we were a couple. Within a week, the long-running pool on what she and I would name our first child had grown to include nearly the entire base. (While 'Roy Jr.' had a nice ring to it, I privately thought 'Maes' would be more fitting.)

Speaking of which, Gracia had also dropped by earlier with a plate full of steaming quiche, apparently something that Alphonse had been dreaming about 'since forever'. Today would be the first occasion he would have to finally taste it, as his abused digestive system hadn't been allowed to come within a five-foot pole of it until now. The Rockbell girl's apple pie, also on the 'since forever' list, would be delivered later in the afternoon when its maker's train arrived from Rush Valley.

(I had never tasted that pie, but the heavenly quiche was already threatening to make my mouth water. And so with great effort and heroic willpower, I had seated myself as far away as was possible from it. Dignified Fuhrer-elects do not drool.)

Armstrong looked at me disapprovingly. "Surely you don't mean to say that you have no present for the lad? Such a disappointment! After all these young men have endured, and you don't have the heart to provide them with something to ease their sufferings? I am greatly saddened—"

"Alright, settle down, Major." Using my best 'calm-down-Fullmetal' voice, I managed to cut him off before he started weeping.

Tugging off a few medals I didn't care to remember the significance of, I clapped my hands. After a brief flash of light, a hastily transmuted kitty collar lay on my desk.

"Happy? Now, which one are we giving to him, lieutenant?"

She opened her mouth to answer when a knock sounded on the door.

"Elric?" I barked.

"Yes?" Was it my imagination, or did Ed sound…cheerful?

"Your brother isn't here yet, but you're cutting it close. Come on in—" the door opened slowly—"which one do you think Alphonse would like best?" I gestured lazily to the box of mews in the center of the room while I prepared to engrave the collar. There was silence.

"What, did Elric finally chop off his hippie braid? About time, too, I kept getting him confused with that mechanic of his," I remarked, finally looking up. One Elric was leaning heavily on his crutch and staring in delight at the balls of soulless fluff, while uneven footsteps came pelting down the hallway as the other Elric burst into the room.

(Well, at least I had been partially right. Alphonse's cropped hair was certainly an improvement on the lank 'n' straggly look he had been sporting for the past few months.)

"Sorry I'm late, idiots at the pet store messed up my order—oh, crap, you're already here, Al? Why'd you let him in, Mustang?"

Fingers itching for a snap, I snarled. Breda looked at the clock and snickered, motioning at Fuery to pay up. "Elric—"

"Yes?" Al squeaked.

"What?" Ed whined. "Aw—come on! I already got him the collar, you copy-cat! Get Al something else!"

(The resulting carnage made Heymans a very wealthy man indeed, although one sergeant simultaneously lost his meal funds for the next two months. Luckily for our guest of honor, no kittens were harmed in the explosion. Luckily for me, neither was the quiche.)

_A/N: This one deals with more of the team, and as I wasn't 100% sure what their promotions would be, I left their titles the same as they were throughout the series. Hope it didn't bother anyone._

_Reviews and feedback make me deliriously happy. Feel free to make my week :-)_


	3. Loose Spark

Nearly half a year since the day It All Hit the Fan, I found myself on an exceptionally uncomfortable yet unbelievably sleep-inducing train car en route to one Risembool, of eastern Amestris.

I'd forgotten how maddening travelling cross-country by train could be. Having a personal chauffeur tended to make one spoiled, I concluded; unfortunately, Riza (who would undoubtedly shoot me in the foot and make me sleep on the couch for a week if I ever referred to her as such) remained back in Central to 'hold down the fort while you're gone, sir'. (I.e. to prevent another streakage incident, which happened last time we were both out of town and my idiotic staff decided to take Havoc out to get smashed after his latest rejection. I always knew Fuery couldn't hold his liquor, but Falman, too? I was counting on him to be the responsible one! I bet he regrets that photographic memory now…) She did, however, send Black Hayate along as my bodyguard.

The pup had earned me quite a few dirty looks from my fellow passengers, but the train officials had allowed it, to make up for being out of first-class tickets. Hey, it's what you get for booking so last minute; I acknowledged that. The officials had fallen all over themselves when I arrived at the station, but I wouldn't_ dream_ of kicking the people who had had the foresight to get tickets before me out of the prime car, and—for a bit of nostalgia's sake as well—I forced my way onto the regular cars where I had first ridden as a young cadet. (I did, however, reconsider the notion when I was greeted with the sight of those horrid wooden benches people deigned to call 'seats' on this monster.)

At least I was able to pass most of the journey through unconsciousness, for as soon as we cleared the city limits I was out like a light, only waking up hours later to a painfully empty stomach and the announcement that we would be arriving in Risembool in fifteen minutes. (Which then became nearly an hour, with a flock of sheep seemingly containing every ram and ewe in Risembool deciding that now would be a great time to graze on the only track leading in and out of this too-tiny to be on a map town. The only reason they had a station was for the purpose of transporting these smelly muttons to the slaughterhouse, I recalled vengefully.)

When we finally did arrive, I was hot and hungry and a load of pissed off. A whole bunch of documents concerning Lab Five and all the other experiments the upper echelon-slash-homunculi had been performing had just been recovered, and I had wanted someone to help me sort through the whole mess. When I had oh-so-generously invited Ed to review them with me, the brat refused to come up to Central and insisted that 'if you need my help so damn much, you can come up here and get it'. For not the first time I seriously contemplated what it would take to send flames through the telephone network, before Riza gently (read, forcibly) pried the receiver out of my grip and informed Ed that yes, I would be delighted to come to Risembool, as soon as possible of course, so that I would be able to return to my duties in Central.

Traitor.

So now I was here, in the scorching summer heat, trying to remember where exactly the boy lived. It wasn't as if there were many options, but the roads were winding and it was hard to keep your bearings with all these hills; not to mention that the last time I had been here was about five years ago. And Riza had led the way. They seemed to be going through a drought of some kind now—the ground was dry and cracked and I kicked up dust with every step. I shoved my gloves deeper into my pockets—any loose spark could have disastrous consequences here.

Finally I quashed my pride, and inquired to the nearest field worker where the Elric home was. I got a few strange looks, but clear enough directions. Shuffling along the indicated path, Black Hayate panted along resolutely beside me. I didn't pay much attention to where we were headed until I rounded the bend and came face to face with an enormous pile of charred ruins. _What the…? _How could I have gotten so totally lost once again?

The familiar scent of burnt wood filled my senses and for a moment, just a brief instant of eternity, I was _there_ and this home belonged to a family, one that I'd been ordered to exterminate, and burnt wood became burnt flesh and someone was screaming, screaming with a child's voice, with Ed's voice—

No. _No_, this was not Ishval, this was no desert. Clearly I had taken a wrong turn at the last hill, stumbled upon a decrepit old barn. This clearly wasn't the Elrics' home.

_Unless_—my heart skipped a beat. _The weather—just a spark could've ignited the whole place in seconds…_but I had spoken to him just yesterday! Black Hayate nosed the ruin, looking up at me with a doggy shrug. Quickly I knelt down and felt the remainder of the ashes: far too cool.

Oh. Right. My emotions closed off and logic belatedly kicked in—I wasn't mistaken; this _was_ the Elrics' home, but a tragedy of a different sort had occurred here.

Of course, I should've been asking about the automail shop instead. Luckily it didn't look like I would have to go much farther; true memory was slowly returning and I saw the telltale smoke rising over the next blasted hill. I wondered if Ed's mechanic made as good a pie as Gracia's…(Ed hadn't given anyone beside him and his brother a chance to try some at Al's catastrophe of a party last spring.)

Still, I waited for my pulse to slow before I turned to set off.

Just as I rose, however, a sudden rustle from behind sent my heartrate into overdrive once again. I whirled around, posed to snap, only to find the man toppled by Black Hayate, eagerly licking every inch of him.

_Some bodyguard…_

As the scrabble of claws on metal echoed, I came to my senses once again (I know, going soft here) and unclenched my fingers, raising them to pinch my brow instead. Memory flooded me, the scene eerily reminiscent of a much shorter boy and a much larger dog. I considered calling off the pup, but shortly dismissed the thought. Call it keeping with tradition. (Or karma. That worked too.)

"Whatcha doing down here, Mustang?" Ed called as he struggled to his feet. Black Hayate whined. "Nothing left in this pile of junk." A touch of bitterness colored his voice.

"Not on purpose, Edward," I growled. A pause. "What happened to this place?"

(Hey. Never said subtlety was my thing.)

"Burned it," Ed muttered. "As a warning—we couldn't come back until we had reached our goals—and as a reminder of my mistake." As he spoke, the hot sun glinted off the sliver of metal visible where Black Hayate had torn his pant leg.

In the choking dry air, his guilt was contagious.

Stifling a sigh, I cleared my throat. When had I become such a shrink? These ruins must've shaken me more than I'd thought. Try as I might, I couldn't stifle memories and feelings that I had long thought buried. (But now, this wasn't about me. This was about Ed, a boy-no, but not a man, never a soldier—a fellow _human being_, then, who needed to forgive himself already, for God's sake; even though neither of us believed in God.)

Besides, it had been a few months—maybe I could try that being nice thing again.

"Edward…this may not be my place, but...listen. I know you're still guilty. You've felt that way for a long time."

_Way to state the obvious, Roy_. Where was I going with this?

"However, you've had all the reminders you need and then some. We all make mistakes, and yours and mine, they're bigger than most."

The ghosts all around us wailed in the silence.

"But this equivalent exchange—it's over. You've paid your price." _Several times over and then some._

My words hung there, daring him to refute them. _Dammit, how could I make him see?_

Finally: "I know. I _know._ It's just…" he released a halting breath.

But it was okay, because I understood. Some sins you couldn't just absolve away.

"And you?" Ed shot back unsteadily, "Have you paid your price?"

_Never. _

"I'm working on it," I lied.

_It will never be enough._

We stood there in amicable enough silence, watching the elongating shadows of the rubble as the sun set behind us. Black Hayate turned three times and fell asleep on my feet.

Then my stomach began to growl, and emotional confessions be damned, I wanted pie.

"Edward?"

His mouth twisted. "Don't call me that," he huffed.

God. What did he want me to do, go all '_Edward Elric!_'-Armstrong on him? I swear, I was going to revert back to 'pipsqueak'. Nudging Black Hayate awake, I began to stomp down the god-forsaken hill.

"…Sounds like Hohenheim," he whispered up to the sky, and I half-thought he might've meant for me to hear.

_A/N: I realize this one has a bit different tone than the others; it just kind of evolved that way. (It also took on a life of its own to become my longest yet!) If you want to make it meaningful, I think it represents Ed and Mustang's maturing relationship, where they can talk to each other on more of a deeper level. _

_(Not that this is a RoyEd-there's actually some pretty obvious Royai coming up, but there really isn't any specific relationship category for our two main characters. If I had to describe it I would say it's more paternal, or definitely a developing friendship.)_

_So did you like it, hate it, was it 'ehhh'? Drop a line and let me know your thoughts. School starts tomorrow, and it would be so incredibly amazing if I could wake up to some reviews from some awesome people!_


	4. Journeys

Two years after the day A Lot of Things Got Blown Up (another creation of yours truly—I heard our Fuhrer let that one out at last month's inauguration speech), I was dozing on the couch in Winry's workshop when the call came. She answered quickly, probably hoping to hear from Al, who'd left for Xing the day before.

"Hello? … Oh, Jean, how are you? ...Yes, we're good…Ed? He might not be able to talk right now…" I could feel her questioning glance land on me.

"S'okay," I yawned, sitting up with a crack—man, Mustang was right, I was going soft—and reaching for the phone. Hadn't heard from Havoc in ages.

"Heya, Havoc—"

"Listen, Chief, how soon can you get to Central?" Havoc cut me off in a rush.

"Huh?" I blinked, feeling like someone had suddenly thrown a bucket of cold water on me. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mustang."

Forty-five minutes later I was perched atop a pitching boxcar, one of Risembool's red-eye freight lines. It would arrive in the capital by dawn, with fresh meat and cheese for the delis. Human transport was strictly prohibited, but Edward Elric had never said 'no' to hitching an unauthorized ride, and I sure as hell wasn't planning to start now.

An hour or so after the sun graced the sodden sky with its presence, I stomped into one Central waiting room. The scowl, I heard later, had caused hardened surgeons to break into a cold sweat and sent interns fleeing for the nearest stairwell.

(But I still say people exaggerate. It didn't take more than three hours for them to coax that first-day on the job candy striper out of the supply closet.)

My anger evaporated, however, when I saw the familiar figure slumped woodenly in the unforgiving plastic that is the Waiting Room Chair.

"Mustang? I thought...something had happened…?" Perplexed, I hobbled over and sank into a Chair with a wince. He looked at me brokenly, mouth open for a moment before he could force the single word out:

"Hawkeye."

Ah. Shit.

"Wha—how did this happen?" Clearly, my tact sucked.

"…Miscarriage."

I sucked in a breath. _That _was unexpected, to say the least. We had all known they were together now, but this…double shit.

"It was so sudden…she was only a few months along, we were going to surprise everybody today, I'm sure they were all wondering why she hadn't been at the range for a couple weeks. I wouldn't let her, see."

He expelled the words in a fierce whisper; as if hating himself for saying them, hating to leave them hanging there in the air in all their tortuous misery. I didn't know what to say.

"We were both in the office, finishing _paperwork _of all things, the paperwork for her maternity leave…I couldn't stop looking at her, she was _glowing, _Ed, we were both so goddamn _happy_…" He lowered his head, hands pressing furiously against his eyelids to recall or block out the image.

"And then she coughed, like a little 'oh' of surprise, and there was suddenly all this _blood _and she was so pale…" He shuddered. I had never seen a man so vulnerable—this was Roy Mustang?

"She's not…you know, dead, is she?" I flushed. My words sounded impossibly loud, booming harshly in this Room of Eternal Hell. My inner Alphonse chastised me—_What a jackass thing to say, Ed!—_only Al probably wouldn't say 'jackass'.

Mustang didn't seem to notice, or care. "No, she's recovering now, but the doctors say…she may never be able to have another baby."

Triple shit. If there was anyone in the universe who didn't deserve this, it was Riza Hawkeye. She had been like a mother to Al and me, always watching our backs as surely as she did Mustang's. I sat in stunned silence while Mustang sunk even further into the Chair, until he burst out what was forefront in my mind:

"This isn't _fair_! She didn't deserve this." His voice, startlingly desperate, echoed down the empty hallways. "Is it my fault, Ed? Penance for all the children I've killed? I knew, I _knew _nothing I did would be enough, but she was never to blame…she came there because of me, she always followed _me_!"

I turned away. Enough. Mind-Al be damned, there was no way to excuse this.

"If you believe that, Mustang, you're not the man I thought you were." Now it was his turn to be stunned. "Shit happens. We know that. This…this was an accident, a horrific natural mistake. If you want to blame it on yourself, or some vengeful god, go ahead. But alchemists have no gods, and you're sure as hell not to blame, so as excuses go, those are pretty poor."

Mustang was still for several minutes, while the wall clock near the nurse's station noted the passing seconds with a painful loudness. Finally he leaned forward and sighed. "You're just like Maes, you know. He never had a problem telling me when I was being an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," I grumbled reluctantly. "You just need to stop thinking that every cat that gets hit by a car is somehow your fault."

Okay, crappy analogy. But whatever.

Mustang leveled a red-eyed glare at me. "I do _not_ think that," he said stiffly, then pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. "What I mean is, you two are probably right. I just wish I could bring myself to believe you."

And it was a step, for once. We sat there as the nurses slowly came back from hiding, and patients began to stir. I relieved a passing intern of his coffee, elbowed Mustang in the ribs—had to get his attention somehow, right?—and shoved the cup in his face.

"You're welcome—now, go. You'll want to be there when she wakes up." He exhaled slowly, took the cup, and downed it in one gulp. (Then promptly choked and turned several interesting colors.)

"Oh, my god, this is like _tar_!" The intern glared at us from down the hall.

I rolled my eyes. "Looked like you needed it. Last time I try and do something nice."

He shuddered once more, and managed to resume normal coloring. When he quietly thanked me, I knew he didn't mean for the coffee.

"Anytime, Mustang." I stood up with a groan. Might as well grab some of that for myself, in the meantime. I started off toward the cafeteria, trying my hardest not to limp. I hadn't taken more than a few steps when Mustang looked up.

"What's wrong with your leg?" _Damn._

"Nothing, was just getting it adjusted when Havoc called. I'm taller now, and here's the proof!"

I didn't tell him the hasty reattachment ached for hours, or the rain made it hurt like a bitch, but I think he knew anyway. We'd worked—hell, we'd fought, won, lost, _lived_—too much together.

I was almost gone when, said so softly I almost missed it; "You were the godfather, Ed."

I froze. _Godfather, huh?_

And there, at the end:

Seems like Mustang had finally gotten it right.

_A/N: Well. As you can probably tell, this one was majorly different than the others in that it was written in our favorite Quartermetal Alchemist's voice, and not our favorite snarky Colonel's. *Hides* As the last story in this series, I thought it fitting to go with Ed's perspective, as most of what we got from him earlier was just reaction to stuff Mustang said, and not his own inner thoughts/conclusions. _

_The material was also much darker in here, but I realized I really wanted the characters to have to face these horrid, guilty emotions that sort of star in FMA. Ed got his catharsis last chapter, so now Roy gets his turn. (Nothing personal, Hawkeye...)_

_And this is it! I just want to thank all the readers-you guys mean the world to any writer, here or otherwise. And to the reviewers-thank you so, so much. Your feedback is invaluable. (People who took the time to comment every chapter: you know who you are, and you're amazing.) _

_Hope you enjoyed the ride!_

_~Total_


End file.
